The Last Dance
by E. C. Hollingsworth
Summary: Erik had martyred himself for love to prevail between the young couple while he turned a blind eye to the betrayal that would plague him for eternity. He is then left with no choice but to reap revenge on the guilty and the innocent.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I make no claims of owning anything related to the _Phantom of the Opera _or _Elisabeth, _each belongs to their respected creators and copyright holders.

**Summary:** Selflessly, Erik had martyred himself for love to prevail between the young couple, not believing that the tides would turn and the gratitude of the sacred gift would be returned to him through treachery. He is left then with no choice but to reap revenge on the perpetrators and the innocent—all for the purpose of finally becoming perpetually triumphant.

**La Dernière Danse**

(The Last Dance)

By: E. C Hollingsworth

Prologue

"Versunken ist die alte Welt;  
verfault das Fleisch, verblasst der Glanz.  
Doch wo sich Geist zu Geist gesellt,  
da tanzt man noch den Totentanz …"

--

He knew he was dying; every fiber in his death like body told him he was. The small bullet that penetrated into his shoulder only reassured it with every staggered breath he took in. He fought natural instinct to cower and try to remove the bullet, but he was an intelligent man, he knew that would only secure his death faster and Erik still had a piece of his legacy to procure. He would make sure his death would not be the only one that night in the cold labyrinth beneath the opera house.

Erik turned around to face his adversary while he regained his cold demeanor with each breath. He unfurled his long spider like fingers gracefully as though he were about to strike the ivory keys of an organ rather than encompass them around a noose.

_You have made a grave blunder indeed monsieur and now you shall feel the wrath of Erik. Let us hope your God will show grace upon you ravaged soul. _Erik lifted his yellow cat eyes up to the sorry man.

"Who hired you, monsieur?"

His eyes barred into the man like flames.

The stocky man made no reply. From the appearance of him, he did not look the least bit Parisian.

Italian, Erik cogitated, thinking of the people who dwelled in the majestic country. For the man was of no particular height stature; he had curly black hair, a rather thick neck, and skin the hue of the rich Tuscan earth. His dark eyes gleamed bright with the malice and hatred that was entwined in the depth of the steel sea of grey.

"You refuse to answer?" Erik asked walking over to the organ, trying to keep the man at bay. "Then perhaps I shall answer it for you instead."

Clandestinely, Erik grabbed the length of rope lying beside the white keys and hid it in the depths of his black cloak.

"As for your name, it matters not to me, nor does your family or country. But what I do surmise is that you took a job as a murderer and rose up the social ladder to a position where you carry out the dissolute business of the _noblesse._ A while ago, you were hired by a comte and his dotting comtess to kill me—does the surname Chagny sound familiar to you, monsieur? And so you are here and have undoubtedly completed your task, but my kind monsieur, your perception of _your_ future remains ever so erroneous."

The man watched as Erik circled him allowing him to reflect on the words. Then as quickly as a cat, Erik pulled the noose from his cloak and shoved it over the murder's neck, tightening it to the brink of suffocation. The gun fell from the man's hand.

"Who hired you?" Erik roared.

The man consistently held his silence, glaring at Erik.

"I advise you to comply, Monsieur _Muet,_ for you have yet to see the full grip of the snake. I'll ask you once more, who hired you?"

"Comte…de Chagny," the man choked as the noose tightened.

"And the comtess, did she have any part in it?" Erik uttered, allowing his previous emotionless mask to betray him.

"She was right along side her husband," the man mocked.

His Christine, his Angel of Music, a conspirator to his murder, it could not be, but even so he felt his heart sink as though weighted by all of the sorrows and pains of the world.

The deadly noose loosened, giving the Italian time to pull a dagger from its sheath. Taking upon his chance, he plunged the dagger into Erik. Erik staggered backwards clutching the wound. Without hesitation he collapsed to the floor in shock, taking in shallow breaths while his mind spun from the searing pain.

"It seems the tables have turned, Signor Fantasma. I, Ludovico Ambrogio di Fiernze, have defeated the seemingly invincible Phantom of the Opera!" He laughed and kicked the poor man on the ground and turned to walk away, laughing insistently.

Erik pulled the dagger from the wound and chased after Ludovico. As soon as he caught up with the man, Erik plunged the bloodied dagger into his back and the man fell to the stone floor. His dull eyes lolled back into his head and his hands fell limp to his sides as scarlet blood seeped from the wound.

Erik slowly rose and staggered to the Louis-Philippe room where he grabbed the wedding veil from the cupboard. He pulled the pure white lace up to his morbid visage.

"Oh Christine, why? You have betrayed your Erik, the one who has always loved you, Christine."

A solitary tear fell from his visage onto the intricate lace.

The veil now stained a deep crimson fell suddenly to the floor and the frail body followed it. His bloodied hands fell flaccid and his eyes stared blankly into the darkness as his final plea for his beloved left his emaciated lips.

Suddenly, the air grew still and a great gust of cold air swept through the underground realm of the opera house with such a force, it lifted Erik's body into the air and engulfed it in black and silver swirls.

There was a great tremble and Erik's lifeless body was brought beneath the living world into the realm of death.

_**The Rather Lengthy Author's Note:**_

**Preface:** This story is jointly derived from Gaston Leroux's _The Phantom of the Opera _and the Michael Kunze and Sylvester Levay musical, _Elisabeth. _As for whether this fan fiction is going to be Erik and Christine or Raul and Christine, I'm not going to give it away because that's an important part to the plot, but rest assured, I can promise you that it will not be Erik and an Other Character or a rather interesting pair I've seen, Erik and Raul.

**Note on the timeline of the story:** It starts out in June of 1881, three months after the infamous performance of _Faust _and the subsequent events that followed it. As a continuation of the novel, it will follow Christine, Erik and Raul after the scandalous affair that plagued the opera house. I expect it to be about twenty-five chapters at the end.

**Note on translations**: I adore languages and I try to use them in my writing to give it a more authentic quality to the text. But there's no need to worry if you don't know the language, I'll provided the English counterpart at the end of the chapter. I also want to make it clear that my translations sometimes are not perfect and I would be ever so grateful if someone would point out the mistakes so I can change them.

**Prologue: **

- Quote from _Elisabeth_ at the beginning:

"Gone is the old world  
Like rotted meat, its gloss faded.  
Yet where the spirits join spirits  
They will dance the dance of death"

-_Noblesse:_ Nobility

-_ Muet_: Mute or dumb (I used both meaning to make it seem like Erik was mocking Ludovico)

**Note on **_**Elisabeth**_**:** _Elisabeth_ is an Austrian musical by Michael Kunze and Sylvester Levay about the life and death of Elisabeth of Bavaria, the consort of the Austrian Emperor, Franz Josef I. It tells of her life as it evolved from a romantic fairytale to a tragic murder (a better summary can be found at the musical's website wwww.elisabethdasmusical.at). If you are interested in the musical, you can buy the Vienna revival cast recording (full or highlights) on itunes or you can buy a DVD of the musical online.

**A final note from the Author:** I do hope you enjoy the story as much as I have had the delight of writing it. I am hesitation to set expectation dates for when I will update next because I refuse to post unless I am fully satisfied with the chapter (well ninety-nine percent satisfied).

Also I try my hardest to make the story as accurate as possible from checking the events that happened during the time to even something a diminutive as if postage stamps were issued in Sweden during the time period (they were first issued on July 1, 1885 if anyone is wondering).

And finally (yes, _finally_) I invite anyone to leave a criticism, comment, concern or suggestion (etc…) for the story if they wish.


	2. Chapter One: Décès

**Disclaimer:** I make no claims to owning anything related to the _Phantom of the Opera _or _Elisabeth, _each belongs to their respected creators and copyright holders.

**La Dernière Danse**

(The Last Dance)

By: E. C Hollingsworth

Chapter One: Décès

"Engel nennen's Freude, Teufel nennen's Pein,

Menschen meinen, es muss Liebe sein.

Mein Auftrag heißt zerstören. Ich tu es kalt.

Ich hol, die mir gehören, jung oder alt."

----

Erik opened his eyes and took in his new surroundings. Around him were rolling hills of dark green adorned with red poppies, narcissuses and pure white roses; stone grey mountains encompassed the area and everything was shrouded in a fine grey mist. In front of him, a well-worn path led to a dock where an ebon boat swayed back and forth in the onyx dark water.

Erik stood up and brought his hands up to his face, his mask was gone, but there was no deformity. From his birth, Erik was plagued with a visage that could bring even the bravest of men to tears. He had borne not the face of a man, but a death's skull with yellow skin stretched across as tight as a drumhead, and as for his nose, only a black void lay.

But now in the land of the dead, the cavity was filled with a nose, and his skin was no longer crude but soft and smooth. He was finally a normal man, no devil's child, no monster, but a man! Oh, the irony of it all, if only Christine could view his visage now that he was no different from her beloved comte in terms of appearance. A pungent rage filled him; it was because of her and her precious comte that he was in this circumstance.

And yet what is death, he mused, life is but temporary, but death, death is for all eternity.

Erik leered and looked over towards the dock. Inquisitiveness overcame him and he strolled towards the ferry. A gaunt specter of a man with an oar appeared in the back of the ferry.

"Welcome back, Thanatos," the old man greeted as he bowed reverently.

The old man was rather lanky with cool grey hair and deep brown eyes. His long face was sweetly caressed by the lines of old age while his hands were strong and calloused by the wooden oar he held. He donned a white tunic and long breeches such as those worn during the latter part of the Renaissance.

"Might I inquire who you are, monsieur?"

"Charon, keeper of the ferry to the realm of the dead," the man replied without hesitation.

The Underworld, Erik pondered, it couldn't be true; mythology was obsolete in the nineteenth century as it had been for hundreds of years preceding it.

Oh, the roguish tricks of illusion the mind can play upon a person, it truly must be a reverie of his, not that he could recall one as vivid as this, but nonetheless there is no other logical explanation for it.

"Come great Thanatos, Hades is waiting for you at Elysium," Charon urged untying the boat from the dock.

"What of my fare?" Erik asked trying to humor the old man.

Charon chortled, "Has your mortal life erased all memory of times before? You are the Lord of Death; you are Death. You pay no fare to me."

Of course, Erik thought, Thanatos, an entity that lurked around and secured the voyage to the Underworld through a fatal kiss.

He was Death.

Erik conceded and descended into the boat allowing Charon to row it down the black River Styx. Traveling down the river, the scenery changed into a rich forest of sable poplars and aspens, whose lackluster branches bore no customary waxy green leaves. Along the river, purple monkshood grew freely, denoting solemn tones of death, along with patches of menthe, narcissuses, and lilies. Despite its richness in vegetation, the forest was deathly somber and still with nothing to disturb its eternal rest.

Off in the far distance, around the curvature a terrible figure arose in front of a formidable wall of dark grey stone that extended farther than the eye could comprehend. The figure soon became more apparent as the boat edge closer and closer to the impenetrable wall.

The menacing figure was Cerberus, the ominous three-headed dog who possessively guarded the gate to the realm of the unliving dead. With its seething three sets of eyes it looked down on the ferry and saw Erik; the monstrous dog sniffed the air and bowed its three heads deferentially as though Erik were Hades himself.

The boat passed through the gate easily and then entered the Fields of Asphodel, the impartial sector where people who were neither good nor evil stayed for eternity. There was no joy there in the land, it was barren, but it was not taxing on the spirits there. It was much like a cloudy day with a bit of sunshine—only indifferent.

As for the novices to the Underworld, the Fields of Asphodel was a place where the dead forgot their past life with a drink from the Lethe which only the Gods and other deities were immune from.

"If I may inquire, how did I become mortal once again? It seems that living among them has clouded my memory," Erik asked, surveying the land and the spirits who surrounded the riverside.

Silence engulfed once more as it seemed Charon was uneasy of the matter.

"Do you not know?" Erik inquired, turning his head away from the lifeless eyes of the dead staring down upon him.

"Yes, I do," Charon reluctantly replied, "however I am not sure if you wish to know."

If I didn't want to know I wouldn't have asked, Erik thought trying to suppress his impatience.

"I do wish," he replied calmly.

Not wanting to defy the god, Charon complied.

"Many years ago, longer than I can comprehend, Zeus fathered nine maidens, with Mnemoyne, the goddess of memory. Their names were Calliope, Clio, Erato, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia, Urania and Euterpe."

_Ah yes, the nine patrons of the arts and sciences and the inspiration to those who excel in their mighty pursuits._ He knew Euterpe the most out of all of them as he had seen a statue of the patron of music during his travels through Greece.

"You fell in love with Euterpe and tried to seduce her, but she defied you and ran to her father, the all mighty Zeus. In rage you gave her the kiss of death which sent her to the Underworld and then to the Elysium Fields where she was spared by her father to join her sisters on Mount Olympus. You were banished and damned to live as a mortal in a time where the gods held no worldly power in."

So he was damned to a life where love is taken from him, by—how fitting—an Angel of Music. He leered as the boat slowed down and stopped in front of another dock. The ferry started to sway as the water thrashed against the onyx planks of the stagnant boat.

As though a force had taken over his mind, Erik ascended from the boat to the land that spread out in front of him. Off to his right was an arch made up of tall vines and beyond it stood three men dressed in long robes of dark grey with silver neck chains around their shoulders.

Rhadmanthys, Aeous, and Minos they were called, the three judges of Hades who decided man's eternal fate.

Intrigued by them, Erik walked towards the judges, glancing back to see Charon rowing the boat back towards the way they came.

He passed through the arch and saw the three judges nod their heads in greeting.

"Welcome back, Thanatos," Minos greeted, "we have all sorely missed you."

"As have I," Erik replied to the tallest of the judges.

"Hades is eagerly waiting for your return," the other judge commented.

"I've been told," Erik said as he glanced around.

The powerful judges and he were standing at a cross road which veered out into three different paths each with seperate arches that loomed over the pavement. The path to the left was as dark and foreboding as could be with an arch made of entwined birch branches. The path to the right was friendlier with an arch of ivy vines and finally the one in the middle was the lightest path of all, emitting beams of yellow through the white lilies which made up the third arch.

"I implore you, where shall I meet the Lord Hades?"

"At his palace in the Elysium Fields," Minos gestured towards the lightest of pathways. "Will you need a guide?"

"No, I do not believe so. Farwell for now," Erik concluded, leaving the trio of judges to their duties as he glanced over at a young man ascending from Charon's boat.

Erik took the center path and walked along the uneven stones, which paved the way, watching as the mundane surrounding turned to beauty.

As far as the eye could see the green grass glowed as bright as emeralds, the bountiful ashen trees glimmered with their waxy jade leaves, and the scattered flowers bloomed bright with radiance. However, the land was not without its own deathly inhabitants. Erik did not recognize most of whom passed him, but there were a few renowned figures that once graced the Earth such as the mighty Herakles, Caesar, Queen Elizabeth of England, and Mozart and Haydn, both of whom had inspired him throughout his life. He stared in awe as he saw the greats pass him and even nod in recognition to him, him Erik.

In front, a large and grand palace that would challenge even Versailles in splendor graced the fruitful path. It was made of black marble and finely wrought silver with windows shining like diamonds. Its spires and towers dwarfed the land below, while all beneath strived to see even the slightest sight of the mighty ones who visited and dwelled there.

The cobbled path soon turned to a dark black stone that mimicked the palace as specters gathered along the road to view the great novice. Some of the subjects of Death bowed to him as others had done previously, while others stared penetratingly at Erik with varying looks of resentment or indifference.

The incessant stares brought back dreadful memories Erik had attempted to forget in the latter part of his life. Memories of when he traveled from fair to fair—when he was know as the "living corpse". Day after day, he was gawked at in disgust, mocked and jeered because of his ghastly visage. Women fainted at the sight of him, children cried in their pitiless voices and young and old taunted him.

Erik's pace quickened as he ventured down the meandering path.

The throng of the dead grew larger each step of the way towards the palace. It would seem that all who dwelled in the fields had come in curiosity to watch his return. Gazing through the crowd, Erik noticed a pair of green eyes as brilliant as flawless emeralds staring blankly at him. He gazed at the woman who even in death looked like a fallen angel from above.

The pair of demure jade eyes belonged to no one else but his mother. Erik felt a tremor in his heart as he stopped his procession to look at her once more. It had been many years since he had been able to gaze upon her fair face, though it was the first time he had been able to look at her without trepidation.

His heart yearned to tell her it was her son, her beautiful son now, but regrettably, she would not recognize him anymore. As much as he despised his mother, he adored her; she was a much as an untouchable angel to him as Christine was. Though it seemed during his years as a young boy, she had no love for him as mothers often have for their children; she saw Erik only as a burden—a retribution for her past faults.

Disheartened, Erik traveled on as before and he soon found himself at the beginning of the steps to the palace. He climbed the steps precariously; his mind still unsure of what faced him beyond the door. When he reached the top of the stairs, he took notice of the impressive entrance to the palace of the dead. The doors were made of deep brown wood inset with intricate swirls of silver entwined like serpents that opened up into a lotus flower with shining petals made of the finest and brightest diamonds.

Erik fingered the design, trailing his finger through the deep crevasses, following the silver down to a point where it stopped at a dark silver handle. As Erik pulled the handle down, the silver serpents began to move as the clinking of locks sounded. It would seem as though with the turn of the handle, the serpents had drunk from the sacred cup of life so unknown to the land where the dead reigned. They slithered around every which way, filling every crevasse until finally they disappeared into the lotus flower.

Bewildered, Erik grasped the handle once more and pulled down, opening the door and allowing himself to succumb to his future, which lay before him inside the palace.

From the floors wrought of black marble to the assortment of silver lilies gathered in a vase, nothing escaped the jaded matrimony of silver and black—power and death. The room was scarcely furnished save for a few small tables and chairs near the windows. In the middle of the foyer a large staircase loomed, reminding its visitors of their original intent as it stretched upwards to a set of grand ebony doors that lead to the throne room of the dead.

Erik heard a soft click and out of a small door hidden in the curved walls of the antechamber a small man appeared. The man promptly walked over to Erik and bowed.

"Hades is waiting for you, Thanatos," the man spoke gruffly.

He was surely old enough to have lived through the centuries as layers of wrinkles shrouded his fair face of long ago. For a man, he was fairly short only coming to about the height of Erik's torso. In truth, the man was of little great importance to the Underworld, yet he still pompously carried himself, believing subconsciously that he truly was.

"If you will follow me," the man stated, urging Erik to follow him.

Erik obliged and followed the man up the stairs, stopping as they came to a landing in front of the pair of doors. At this point, the grand staircase broke off to the left and right, extending upwards to the other levels of the palace.

A dim light emitted from the partly open door as well as a melodic murmur of voices. The stout man opened the door allowing Erik to enter the throne room of the Lord of the Dead, Hades.

The room in essence would envy even the brightest jewel in its magnificence. From the black marble floor to the frescoed ceiling, round columns created a distinct pathway to the rear of the room where the throne sat. Statues and paintings lay scattered between the walls and the columns, each in their own way telling sorrowful stories of death.

The oblong ceiling was truly the most magnificent piece in the room. No artist could ever comprehend the splendor and the intricacy of it. The ceiling was forged of diamonds that were as dark as the turbulent sea and as light as raindrops. When the light from the windows captured it, it sent rays of the most stunning colors down; no word known to mankind could truly capture it in its brilliancy. The ceiling was the pride of Hades; it was forged long ago for him by his nephew Hephaestus, who had built the splendid palaces of the gods.

"Thanatos."

A distant sound brought Erik out of his thoughts.

"My old friend, would you care to grace us with your long missed presence?"

Erik turned towards the back of the room to see the ruler of the dead in all of his mighty splendor beckon him further. Erik ambled over towards the god, listening as his footsteps penetrated the cold marble. The council and Hades rose when Erik reached the threshold before the ebony throne.

"Welcome back, my friend," he welcomed.

Erik looked up to get a better view of Hades. His forceful demeanor showed through every inch of him. His skin was as white and lifeless as that of the dead who surrounded him but his eyes burned with the brightest of fires. The deep crimson irises contrasted with the unadulterated white sclera such as that of blood staining ones hands. His jet-black hair but only grazed his sturdy chin and a silver crown studded with blood red rubies and onyx gems topped his head. He wore a robe of deep black accentuated with silver thread that danced along the edges.

"Come, you must sit, we have much to discuss," Hades invited, extending a hand to a chair to the right of him.

Erik complied and for the first time noticed the woman sitting to the left of Hades. Even in the Underworld, she was comparable to a pristine rose just in bloom. Her pale blue eyes and fair ivory skin diverged with the dim and bleak world around her. Her mere presence brought an ethereal radiance to the room, as though she were an angel lost from the heavens. This woman was Persephone, the wife of Hades who for six months of the year was damned to the world of the dead away from her mother Demeter and all things bright and alive.

Erik surveyed the councilmen who surrounded him throughout the chamber. The closest to Hades were Clotho, Lochesis and Atropos, the three Fates who destined the lives of the living above. Further away from him were Pyriplegthan, the Judges and the Erinnyes.

"Thanatos," Hades turned his pebble eyes towards Erik. "How does it fare in the mortal lands?"

"Well, if one could say that. However, it would seem that the asinine mortals have ignorantly turned away from you and have created their own God." He laughged coldly.

If truth were told, Erik had not lied. Ever since Erik learned of his true deformity, he had lost full belief in the God of his mother. He never could comprehend how one so forgiving and gracious could damn him so cruelly. He believed in no God or being but only in man and his cruelties.

"Ignorant indeed," Hades replied.

"And here," Erik broke the silence that penetrated the room. "How has it been since my … untimely and lengthy departure?" He added bitterly.

Any actor would surely weep over his performance this day, Erik mused.

"Same as always, I must acknowledge. Pyrenicus and Tysiophone took over your duties, much to my disappointment; it would seem both possessed too much pity in them for the mortals. There justly is no one like you Thanatos."

A thin smile formed on Hades's visage.

"I quite agree," A voice called out from the council. "Thanatos, we are all wondering what your mortal life was like. With your lead my Lord, and of course yours Thanatos we are eager to hear your tale"

"Prynicius is correct," Hades added, "we all would like to hear of your stories."

"It would seem that I am left with no choice; I shall recount it for you," Erik replied.

"I was born on the date of November 18, 1832, in the small _commune_ of Bonsecours near the city of Rouen, France, as Erik…"

And so Erik recounted his life—or more fittingly, a life he would have wished to have.

Erik spun a rapid web of lies around his recollections. His mind moved quickly, allowing only a few facts to penetrate the sticky web he wrought.

After he ended his tale, the chamber was completely silent.

"You mean that your death was an accident?" Pyriplegthan inquired.

"I would think so. It was rather unfortunate that I was at the Café de la Paix working on my latest opera at the precise moment the Italian assailed. A coincidence indeed or he must have had terrible aim."

The room rang with a light mirth.

"Thanatos, I assume you will soon take up your duties and rid of those two disgraceful imposters?" Hades asked once the conversation ended.

"I can assure—" Erik stopped abruptly and lost himself in his devious thoughts.

Oh, the brilliancy of it all, he thought, he held the power of the world in his spidery hands; he was Fate and Death. Every human would eventually succumb to him, including Christine. Oh how he would make her pay for her folly. He would reap revenge upon her and her dear comte as he had tried before, however this time with no divine mercy or pity.

A curious expression lay on Hades's face when Erik glanced at him.

"Of course I will, however," Erik paused and the room became silent as the grave. "With your lead, my _Lord,_ I would like to cease some prior business from my...past life."

A low murmur swept over the council, each of them shocked that he would inquired something so inconsequential to his position.

"Whatever for, Thanatos? Your life is only a figment of the past. Surely there is nothing that important for you to dissipate your time on now," Hades laughed as the others quickly joined in.

"I assure your there is. As thwarting as it is, I had fallen in love during my life and now I believe it is time for me to finally claim what is mine."

"Who could have fallen in love with a monster?" A voice rang out from the council.

The room echoed with laughter.

Hades laughed, "I must say that is one thing I would never have expected from you, but what of your duties?"

The laughs from the council died down.

Erik hesitated and cautiously replied, "of course, I would still carry them out, to the fullest. It will not take longer than a few months at the most."

"Then go, you have my permission, Thanatos. It is drawing late in the evening and you must be longing to go home after all these years, but before you leave I must bestow you with something that is yours, Ascalaphus," Hades turned his attention to the young man standing on the side of the chamber.

"Please bring me the box."

Ascalaphus quickly returned with a small velvet box.

"Your ring. If you have forgotten, the ring allows you to become invisible to all mortals, however once it is off, you are fully visible to them."

"Thank you, Hades," Erik said taking the box and depositing it into the pocket of his cloak.

"Now, I assume you will want to see your home once more…Atreoticus," Hades called out once more.

A door opened behind the throne and out came the man who had shown Erik into the chamber earlier.

"Show Thanatos to his carriage," Hades commanded the old man.

"It is done, my Lord, come Thanatos," he gestured towards the entrance.

"Until tomorrow then."

"You are too kind, great Hades." Erik replied, bowed, and followed Atreoticus out of the hall.

Erik stood at the entrance of the palace with Atreoticus waiting for the carriage that would take him to his new, old home.

"Ah, the carriage comes, my lord," Atreoticus said, pointing off into the distance where a dark carriage passed along through the street.

The carriage came to a stop in front of the two men. From far away, the carriage looked normal enough, however, up close it was daunting from the vastness of it. The metal, which formed the skeleton of the carriage, was as black as the horses' manes that pulled it. There were two small windows of each side with blood red curtains peaking through the panes.

A sturdy man clothed in gray jumped down from the side of the carriage and bowed deeply.

"It has been far too long, my Lord Thanatos."

"Indeed it has and I am eager to return to my…home," Erik replied.

"As you wish."

The footman bowed once more before opening the door of the carriage for Erik. Erik walked down the rest of the steps and stepped up into the carriage.

The door clicked softly behind him and the carriage jolted lightly as Erik glanced back to see the lone man turn towards the palace and walk back inside.

Erik opened the black velvet box and found inside, a ring. Erik had never seen such a ring as this one. It had a thick silver band with a large black diamond in the middle. He took it out of its encasement and examined it; the ring was indeed flawless with not a single imperfection in the diamond.

Putting the ring away, Erik turned his thoughts to his new scheme, the demise of Christine. To him, it matter not whether Erik truly loved her anymore, the only thing that consumed his wicked mind were thoughts of revenge.

But twice Christine had stricken him, the first time when she ran off with that boy and the latter when she planned his murder. Though, even in death, Erik did not exactly know if she planned it along with that boy. If she did, Erik would make sure she would come begging for the sweet and treacherous kiss of Death, however if she was innocent, he would give her a love that no one else could ever give to her.

One way or another, Christine would surrender to him and eternity would bind them together once more. Erik would finally triumph. The plan was as flawless as the diamond that lay in the box before him.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_

Interesting development to the story, eh? It certainly changes things around a bit.

I'm very sorry this chapter took a few months for me to post, however I have been extremely busy with school work. In addition, this chapter has always been a bit problematic for me to write because it's not what I originally intended for Erik, but I thought it was a novel way to explain how Erik became Death. Hopefully, I conveyed the chapter better than some of my original drafts which were rubbish.

I do feel that I need to address Erik…Yes; I know I made Erik "pretty", but I can assure you that he will not end up as a loveable "pretty boy" who will redeem himself with forgiveness and everyone will sing and live happily ever. The reason I took away his physical deformity (well, I was feeling rather charitable at the time…) was because the Greek gods ordained him to be an outcast of society and when Erik became Death, the deformity was taken away because his punishment was over.

As for the next chapter, I'm not going to make any promises as to when I will revise it and post it, but I think it will all depend on when I start the third chapter. The next chapter will change to Christine's narrative of the events that occurred after she and Raoul fled from the opera house.

Finally, I would like to give a _Brobdingnagian _thank you to my two reviewers, _Night Mystic_ and _Sue Raven_, for I am eternally grateful to both of you for your feedback!

I would also like to give a customary thank you to Google and Wikipedia, for without the two I would be lost.

**Translations:**

-_Décès_: Death

-_commune:_ Lowest level of administrative division in the French Republic.

- Quote from _Elisabeth _

"Angel calls it joy, devil calls it agony

But people know it to be love.

My order is to destroy. I do it coldly.

I get what belongs to me, young or old."

As always, I invite anyone to leave criticism, comments, concerns or suggestions (etc…) for the story if they fancy to.


	3. Chapter Two: Un Grand Amour

**Disclaimer:** I make no claims of owning anything related to the _Phantom of the Opera _or _Elisabeth, _each belongs to their respected creators and copyright holders.

**La Dernière Danse**

(The Last Dance)

By: E. C Hollingsworth

Chapter 2: Un Grand Amour

"Die Liebe. Un grande amore!"

--

"_If, in two minutes, mademoiselle, you have not turned the scorpion, I shall turn the grasshopper…and the grasshopper, I tell you hops jolly high!"_

_The little bronze key fell from Christine's small hands onto the floor. _

_Her mind was in shambles. She held the fate of Paris in her hands; with the turn of a key she could send the opera house and many members of the human race to an ashy grave or she could be condemned to be the monster's wife. Oh, the terrible power Erik had bestowed on __her__!_

"_The two minutes are past…Good-by mademoiselle…Hop, grasshopper!"_

"_Erik," cried Christine, "do you swear to me, monster, do you swear that the scorpion is the one to turn?__"_

"_Yes, to hop at our wedding."_

"_Ah, you see! You said, 'to hop'!"_

"_At our wedding ingenuous child!...The scorpion opens the ball…but that will do!...You won't have the scorpion? Then I will turn the grasshopper!"_

_Erik bent down and picked up the bronze key and proceeded towards the caskets. _

"_Erik!" Christine cried._

"_Enough!"_

_He walked back over to Christine and thrust the key into her hand. _

"_I will not have the fate of the living on my conscience once more because of your folly. It will be __**your**__ choice, mademoiselle."_

_Vigilantly, Christine walked over to the opened caskets._

_Inside the first was a figure of a scorpion imitated by fine Japanese bronze and in the second one, a lithe grasshopper. _

_Christine opened her hand and looked at the bronze key. _

"_Forgive me, Raoul."_

_She had finally made her decision. _

_She grasped her hand over the grasshopper and as though she were struck by fiery flames, she quickly tugged her hand away from the figurine. A moment later, Christine took a staggered breath and pushed the top of the casket down upon the terrible grasshopper. _

'_Once you have made your decision, mademoiselle, you must close the casket or else the other dear might hop…hop jolly high all the way to Apollo and his golden lyre!' _

_His voice chided her in the back of her mind. _

_After locking the casket containing the grasshopper, Christine turned to the other one and clutched the scorpion. _

_Sighing, Christine turned the figurine as far as it would go._

_She let go and exclaimed, "Erik, I have turned the scorpion!"_

_Christine heard a loud crack and then the soft sound of water rushing forth from the depths of the cellars. _

_Terrible thoughts flew through her mind as she picked up her skirts and ran over to the little window above the stairs. _

_Desperately, she gazed into the pane. _

_The torture chamber was filling with water, but there was no sign of the Persian or of Raoul. _

"_Christine! The water is up to our knees!...Erik!...Christine!"_

_Christine looked around to see where the distant voice had come from, but she found no one. Once more she looked inside the glossy pane and saw the small opening of the trapped door. _

"_Erik! Erik!" she cried running back to the Louis-Philippe room. "Turn off the tap! Turn off the scorpion!" _

_Erik ceased to reply, as he only stood there, staring at the scorpion. Christine cried out in despair and ran to the casket. She grabbed the scorpion once more and turned it to its prior position. _

_As it rested, crimson blood began to trickle through the crevasses of the casket and onto Christine's pallid hands._

_There was a terrible shatter and Christine opened her eyes to find that she was back in her dressing room._

_She stared in horror at her hands now tainted with blood._

_**Oh, what have I done? **_

_Her face paled as she turned towards the shattered mirror and its silvery shards which lay scattered across the floor beneath it. _

_Inside the mirror was Erik. _

_His face unmasked and exposed in all its morbid glory, except for the crimson stains from the droplets of blood that seeped from his mortal wounds. _

"_Christine, Christine. Why have you done this to me? I love you so…oh Christine…Angel!" _

_He called out as his hand extended out from the mirror towards Christine, leaving a trail of blood on the maple floor. _

_Christine screamed in terror and turned away from the terrible view. She focused her eyes on the dressing table, but there she saw mush to her horror, the scorpion figurine embracing the grasshopper in its brassy pincers. _

_At the sight, Christine fainted. _

_--_

"Erik!"

A voice screamed in the dead of the night.

Christine Daaé woke with a start as the nightmare faded away from reality. Slowly, she eased her head back down and shut her eyes to try and ward off the remnants of the dream.

"It was nothing more than a dream," Christine murmured, trying to sooth her shaken nerves.

For a moment she had believed that her dream had become her reality, yet upon further reflection she discredited her childish thoughts completely.

Why, Erik couldn't be farther away from her at the moment. He was probably still in Paris, residing in his home beneath the opera house or maybe in Vienna—the City of Music.

Yes, Christine concluded calmly, he always spoke fondly of Austria.

Christine laid her head back down on the pillow hoping sweet dreams would once more surround her. But they didn't. She could only dwell on the ghastly images of her nightmare each time she closed her eyes.

Defeated, she sat up and swung her legs onto the cold wooden floor.

As silent as she could be, she took up shawl that was lying on the vacant chair and the dormant lamp on her dressing table and looked back at the room hesitantly before she opened the French doors and walked out into the chilly summer night.

With a heavy heart, she walked over to the edge of the balcony and looked up at the sky.

It would have been terribly dark had it not been for the brilliant moon and her stars that blanketed the Heavens above. There was not a cloud in the sky to disrupt the spectacular view from above. That night, it would seem to Christine, the stars were so close that you could reach out and touch them.

Christine clutched her shawl and looked northwards towards the quaint town below her.

It was very picturesque with its cobbled stone streets and light-colored buildings that were so commonly seen all over the countryside.

Surrounding the town was a large lake whose waters were so murky and dark, their rhythmic crashing was the only feature distinguishing them from the onyx sky.

A large gust of air swept up, forcing Christine to seek shelter farther into covered alcove of the balcony. As she sat down on the little wicker chair, she placed the lamp down on the matching table beside it.

While time passed on, she found herself staring longingly into the flame which illuminated the small space. Her eyes filled with watery tears from focusing on the light, but she did not wipe the stinging beads which flowed down her face. Her mind was too occupied with thoughts of her home and of her loved ones which she had left some while ago.

For a month following that fateful and terrible day at the opera house, she had traveled all over Europe with Raoul, from the rolling hills of England to the mighty snow-capped mountains of Switzerland. It seemed peculiar that every week they would travel on, but Raoul would never mention why, though Christine knew he was afraid of losing her once more, even though he would never admit to it.

Finally, after their month of endless traveling, the couple settled in Vänge, a small town in the Uppsala county of Sweden. And there for the past two months they resided blissfully, away from the hustle and bustle of Paris.

It was the first time that Christine had returned to the small town where she was born. So many memories lay imbedded in the soil, making the homecoming bittersweet—the town was the keeper of happier days with her father and her mother, as well as the steward of the memories regarding her mother's death.

After coming back to Vänge, Christine hadn't dared go near the graveyard where her mother lay buried in, for fear it would bring back sorrows which she had long forgotten.

She had only visited the grave once in her life, the last day she and her father spent in the town before leaving with Professor Valèrius and his wife for Gothenburg.

That day was the first time she had seen death in its metaphorical wooden glory. She was deathly afraid to see the only remains of her dear mother in the form of a simple wooden cross which bared but only her name, Sigrid Johansdotter.

After she left a small bouquet of wildflowers she picked from the garden her mother had cared for so tenderly on the grave, her father spoke to her about angels.

He told her that her mother had become an angel and that she never truly left Christine, she would always be with her. Christine sadly asked her father to stop teasing her. Even in her young age of six she knew that if one could not feel or see someone then they were not there. But Gösta Nilsson reassured his daughter that even though Christine could not see her mother, it didn't mean that she wasn't there with her.

He explained that her mother now lived in Heaven, among the clouds with the other angels and that sometimes if you were very still you could feel their kisses they sent down to you from the wind.

The young Christine smiled at the notion and ever since that day when she was still young, she would patiently wait outside for when there was a soft breeze, allowing herself to be indulged by angel kisses.

--

Christine felt no soft kisses from the wind anymore. Her illusions her father had told her were all shattered. Now, she could only feel the harsh prickling pain of the wind when it lashed across her face.

Christine heard a loud snap on the ground below her which brought her back from her reverie.

She ran over to the side of the balcony and looked down to see a pair of amber eyes staring at her.

_It couldn't be_, she thought, _not here, not now_.

A moment later the eyes blinked and left with the soft rustle of flapping wings.

She placed her hand on her chest to try and calm her erratic breathing.

_It was only a night owl_, she thought.

Nevertheless, Christine grabbed the lamp and went back inside to her room. She sat the lamp down on her writing desk and looked around the newly illuminated room.

To her, the room had a soft and homelike feel to it. The walls were colored pale yellow with whitewashed wood as trim. It was furnished with stunningly crafted cherry woodwork made from the hands of a local Swede. In the middle of the room there was a small four poster bed with light blue hangings and near the corner a large armoire rested against the wall. On the opposite side of the room beneath a window which overlooked a garden, was a small writing desk.

Christine sat down at the little desk and opened the fine stationary box Raoul had purchased for her. She took out the papers which were engraved with her initials, C.S.D., and moved her finger along the middle divider board until she found the piece of wood with a little notch in it. Christine dug her fingers in the notch and pulled the secret compartment out. She then slid the top off and grabbed the little trinket that was hidden inside.

Clutching the small object, she carefully unfurled her palm to reveal what she had taken out.

It was her wedding-present and her accursed bond to Erik.

She tried hard to forget about the fated ring, but every night she took it out of its wooden prison and laid it in her hand to admire it.

As much as Christine hated to admit it, the ring calmed her and reminded her of the time when there was no Erik, no phantom, and no monster; a time when there was only her Angel of Music.

It was but a small token of her home.

Christine brought it up to the light and watched how the light of the flame waltzed on the smooth gold surface.

She smiled wryly and murmured, "Why must you mock me so, my little friend?"

…

"_Fröken_."

A soft voice followed by persistent knocking aroused Christine from her slumber. She lifted her head off of the writing desk and slowly opened her eyes which she quickly closed once more due to the brash sunlight which filtered through the window above her.

Christine opened her hand and the small ring fell out onto the wood desk with a small clink.

As though answering the sound, Christine heard two more knocks followed by a hesitant, "Mademoi…selle?"

"_Ett ögonblick, tack, Sanna_," Christine replied, hoping that Sanna, a maid Raoul commissioned for her would understand her Swedish.

She only wished for a moment to collect herself.

"_Förstås, fröken_."

"_Tack_," she called out.

Christine picked up the ring which had lay dormant in her hand while she was sleeping and put it back in its wooden prison. She glanced down at her hand which still had the circular imprint of the accursed ring. Vigorously, she rubbed at it until only a light imprint was left.

"No matter how far I am from you, you will never truly leave me in peace," she commented to particularly no one, while staring at her hand.

Christine rose from the chair and walked over to the door to let Sanna in.

"_Bonjour_, Christine."

A bright voice greeted her as she opened the door.

Christine smiled. Sanna tried hard to speak to Christine in French, though to no avail. She had taught the eager girl some simple bits of the language which in turn, she would try her hardest to strike a conversation with Christine, but remembering the time long ago when Christine was learning the language, she would always smile and politely correct the girl then switch back to Swedish.

"And a good morning to you, Sanna!" Christine replied cheerfully, though she herself felt otherwise.

The girl looked up at Christine and smiled at her accomplishment.

"Would you like to dress now?" Sanna asked, moving a stray strand of wispy blond hair out of her green eyes.

"Yes, I would."

"Tell me, has Raoul left?" Christine asked turning to Sanna who was opening the door of the large armoire.

"Oh," Sanna blurted out, red rushing up to her cheeks, "my mother wanted to let you know that he had to leave early this morning.

"Ah, here it is…Which one do you prefer to wear today?" She asked, holding up two summer dresses she had selected from the armoire.

Christine pondered for a moment, trying to think of the word for pale yellow.

"That one," Christine decided, pointing to the pale yellow dress in Sanna's right hand.

The dress was her favorite. The skirt was made of pale yellow silk with ivory stripes running down the fabric, while the petticoat underneath it was solid print yellow silk and around the edges, darker yellow trim accentuated it. The back of the dress trailed down into a bustle, which according to Sanna was very fashionable in Stockholm. However, Christine thought the fashion was far too extravagant for her taste. The bustle with its frills and ruffles reminded her of the colorful flowers young children would make out of crêpe paper.

Christine took the clothes from Sanna and walked over to the little room off to the side which she used to change in.

After entering, she locked the door and stood in front of the full length mirror. Her flaxen, curly hair had come free from their restrictive bindings and now fell every which way on her shoulders. Dark circles clouded beneath her azure eyes from lack of sleep and her face was pale and clammy, for the remnants of her dream last night stagnated in her mind.

Christine pulled off her nightgown and flung it on the floor. After finding the white chemise in the pile of undergarments she pulled it over her head and the proceeded to finish donning herself with the rest of the necessary undergarments. Once she finished, Christine unlocked the door and walked back to the main part of her room where Sanna was waiting for her with the corset in her hand.

After helping Christine with her corset, Sanna went over the wardrobe and took out the large dimity bustle which kept the dress's distinct shape. It started at the base of the corset and wrapped around the waist with a large ribbon. In the back, a frame of wire crescents went down to the floor while large bands of ribbons secured the bustle in the front.

"It's a beautiful day, is it not, Christine?" Sanna asked helping Christine secure the bustle.

"Yes, it is," Christine answered thoughtfully, gazing out the window where the bright sun shone through.

"If you would like, I could ask Mama to set your breakfast outside in the garden for you."

"Yes…I would like that."

…

After Christine finished dressing, she decided to pick out a book to pass the time before Raoul returned.

Shutting the door behind her, she walked down the brightly lit hall to the room Raoul used for his office.

The room was scarcely furnished with only a desk and a few chairs scattered throughout room. However, as though making up for its scarcity, the walls were covered with bookcases that stretched from the floor to the ceiling filled with books, maps and other trinkets one might find filling up the space on a shelf.

It took quite a while for Christine to find a book that interested her. For the most part, the books were in English and Swedish, leaving only a few in French. This was to the liking of the owners of the home who were English nobles. Their home in Vänge was a summer home which Raoul and Christine had rented from them for the time being.

For a summer home, the house was not the least bit small; it had twenty rooms on three floors. Thus the young couple had a need for the employment of Sanna, her mother and others who saw to the day to day task of running the household.

Finally, Christine found a book that she was looking for. It was called _La Reine Margot_ by Alexander Dumas. She had heard of the author before but she had never read any of his works.

Christine walked over towards the desk and noticed an edition of the _L'Epoque_ arranged on it. Intrigued, Christine picked up the paper and a small card fell out onto the wood floor. She retrieved the card and turned it over to find that it was addressed to her and Raoul.

Filled with curiosity, Christine read the note:

_**Comte and Comtess de Chagny,**_

_**It is finished.**_

_**-LA**_

Christine turned the note over once more. There was no indication of who sent it, just a postage stamp on the card along with the names of the addressees.

As she pondered over the note, Christine heard footsteps down the hall and a faint knocking. Quickly, she replaced the letter back in the newspaper and set it back in its original spot on the desk. She then picked up the forgotten red, leather bound novel and left the room.

…

Who could have sent the letter? Christine asked herself as she sat in the sunbathed garden behind the house. The couple rarely had any visitors in Sweden, only a few friends they had acquired in the past few months of their stay.

_Could it be that Raoul had finally succeeded in…_

Her thoughts were interrupted by a large bouquet that was thrust in front of her visage. She turned her head and saw the tall figure of a man smiling down upon her.

"Raoul," Christine proclaimed joyfully, "they're lovely!"

His boyish face glowed as he bent down to kiss his fiancée on the cheek.

"But still not as lovely as you are Christine. All the flowers in the world couldn't match up to your beauty."

Christine felt a rush of searing heat rise up to her cheeks.

"Come now, surely you must be jesting."

"Christine!" he exclaimed pretending to be truly offended by the comment. "Certainly you wouldn't believe your fiancé would be joking about such matter as that."

Christine laughed and set the flowers down on the small table.

"How was your day, Raoul? When I woke, Sanna said you were gone."

"And that I am sorry for," Raoul answered, sitting down on the chaise lounge next to her. "I had to attend to some urgent matters in Uppsala."

Christine gazed curiously into his soft hazel eyes.

He laughed.

"Oh?"

"It seems that my sister, Sophie, has tried once again to lure me back to France. A week has yet to pass when I haven't received a novel-worthy letter from her. She heeds none of my replies pleading with her to give me, us, a moment's peace. Hopefully, she will be pleased to know that we will be returning home soon. Would you like that, Christine?"

Christine shook her head.

"Forgive me, Raoul, my mind drifted off for a moment."

"I was asking if you would like to return home, back to France.

"Of course if you didn't want to, we could stay here or visit somewhere else. Name any place mademoiselle, the world is at your feet," he added, after Christine remained silent.

"Yes," she answered wistfully, "France would be fine."

The youthful smile fell from the young comte's face as he scrutinized Christine's face.

"Christine, Christine," he pleaded, "what ails you my dear? You do not seem yourself today."

"Nothing is wrong, truly there is not. I only did not sleep well last night," Christine answered, conjuring up a small smile.

It was true; she didn't get much sleep that night.

She hoped that the answer would be sufficient enough for Raoul.

"Why ever so? Was your room too cold? I knew that the cold would be bad for your health. We could always change your room to one with—"

"No, my room is perfectly suitable. It was nothing more than a…dream that kept me up."

"Surely nothing could be that terrible, not unless it was of…_him_"

Christine remained silent.

"But Christine, he is far away, still in Paris, he is—cannot be—here in Sweden," Raoul assured her. "Oh, don't cry, Christine, it was only a dream!"

He reached over and took her shaking hands.

"I promise you, _he_ will never harm you again."

"But oh," she cried, laying her head on his shoulder. "It seemed so real!"

She tilted her head up towards his face and stared into his eyes seeking solace from her pains.

"It was that horrible day at the opera house. I was in the Louis-Philippe room with Erik, while you and the Persian were still in the torture-chamber. I had only a few minutes left to decide or else Erik would turn the grasshopper.

"I…I turned the scorpion and then I heard you and the Persian. Oh, how I begged Erik to turn the tap off, but he refused so I tried to turn it off, but when I did, blood seeped out of the casket. It went everywhere, all over me! Suddenly, I was back in my dressing room and I saw…oh, it is too terrible!"

Christine closed her eyes trying to recall the picture once more.

"He was there in the broken mirror, covered in blood, pleading for me, declaring his love for me."

Christine let out a cry, "He's dead Raoul…Erik is dead!"

Raoul remained silent for a moment.

"My darling, I'm sure_ he_ is quite alive. It was only a nightmare, Christine."

It was only a nightmare.

Christine silently reflected on his words once more. Yet it had seemed so real, it was as through she could still feel the warm blood trickle down her hands, hear the mordant sound of glass shattering and the soft pleas of Erik.

Oh mad, silly Christine! Have you truly lost your sanity, it was but a dream and nothing more.

"Yes, how foolish of me to be so upset over something so, so trifling," she wiped her eyes and smiled. "Let us speak of it no more!"

"Mademoiselle?"

Christine looked around to where the voice was coming from; she saw Sanna running down the steps to the secluded area of the garden.

"_Ja_, Sanna?"

"I have a letter for you, it is from France," Sanna answered handing the letter to Christine. "Danjel delivered it earlier today."

"Thank you."

The young girl curtsied and left to go back in the house.

"It is from Mama Valèrius, she must have received the letter I sent to her!" Christine exclaimed, eagerly opening the letter.

Smiling, she read the content of the letter, however her bright smile faded as she took in the full meaning of the words printed on the paper.

"What is it?" Raoul asked.

"Mama Valèrius…she's dead."

Christine let the note fall from her clammy hands as a rush of guilt suddenly overcame her.

"This is my fault, I should have never left her, for she was far too sick and she needed me. How could I have been so selfish? I have failed her and my papa!"

"There was nothing you could have done. She is in Heaven now with her dear professor and your papa. She would have wanted you to be happy, not mourn over her."

"We must return to France at once, I cannot stand Sweden any long now that she's…gone." Christine murmured quietly.

"Of course, Christine."

And so the young couple sat in each other's arms, whispering stories of the former Beata Valèrius to each other while in their own way paying homage to the woman they both cared so much about.

--

"We must hurry Christine or we will miss our train," Raoul announced checking his pocket watch.

"It won't take long, Raoul," Christine replied, pulling her fiancé along with one hand while holding a small bouquet of native Swedish flowers in the other.

"Where are we going?"

"Patience, dearest!"

The couple wandered through the beaten path edged by rows of grass and tall trees of every shade of green. As they progressed, the trees tapered off into a clearing near a small cliff that over looked the motionless lake. The clearing possessed an unnatural silence like one at a dancing hall after a gay party.

Christine stopped and turned to Raoul.

"When I was a child after my mother had died, my father and I traveled throughout Sweden looking for work. He would sometimes play his violin as an act in a fair and I would sing along with him. However during that time we found nothing but poverty; we did not even have enough money to pay for a proper room at an inn which left us to stay in the loft room above the stables.

"For Papa could never bring himself to the level of a beggar and ask for even an _öre_. He believed that money should be earned honestly. So Papa played for us to survive," Christine smiled sadly.

"He found nothing while he was traveling, so we came back to Vänge where my father took up farming once more," she stopped a moment and looked up at the sun to restrain herself from crying.

"By luck, the Ljimby Fair came here in mid-spring right after my sixth birthday. My father set up an act with the fair during the stay, here, in this very clearing.

"One night after a performance when the fair closed for the evening, a couple came to see my papa and me. My Father and the two talked for what seemed like an eternity about having Papa and I travel with them to Gothenburg and then to Paris!

"Papa never wanted to leave his beautiful homeland, but he did for me so I did have to live in poverty any longer."

She glanced at Raoul her eyes filled with glossy tears, "As you can imagine, it was here that I met Mama Valèrius and her dear professor."

Raoul took her hand once more and squeezed it reassuringly.

"It's all right Christine, she's in Heaven."

"She always wanted to visit her Sweden before she died. But she was always too sick to travel here," she looked down at the flowers, "it's the least I can do for her."

Christine bent down and rested the flowers against the nearest tree and whispered, "I will always love you, Maman."

--

The couple came back with their hands entwined, whispering lovingly of secrets only known to those in love.

"Will you miss Sweden?" Raoul asked once they were back in the carriage.

"I will. I will miss the memories, but I believe it is time for a change, for the better."

Christine turned her head to look at the scenery of Sweden pass by the window.

This would be the last time Christine would ever gaze upon the grassy meadows and looming trees of her beloved _hemland_.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_

I will be the first to admit that I will not be the most reliable when it comes to posting in a certain time frame, because I believe in quality over quantity and speed when it comes to my stories. I would rather have a work that takes a few months to finish, than a jumbled mess strung together and posted within a few minutes. Luckily, summer vacation starts in week so I'll have plenty of time to work on the next few chapters this summer!

**Translations: **

(Swedish)  
_Fröken_: Miss  
_Ett ögonblick, tack, Sanna_: A moment, please, Sanna  
_Förstås, fröken: _Of course, Miss.  
_Tack_: Thank you  
_Ja:_ Yes  
_Öre_: A Swedish coin  
_Hemland_: Homeland

(German and Italian)  
Quote from _Elisabeth_: "Love. A grand love!"

(French)  
Title: A grand love

**Thank You!**

First of all, I would like to thank everyone who takes the time to read this story, because it's truly a pleasure for me to write for the enjoyment of others! In particular, I would like to give a huge thank you to _The Trousers in Small Jars_ and _iamphantomgirl _for their feedback. And as always, a customary thanks to Google and Wikipedia. Last but not least, I want to give a huge thank you to_ Shealteal_ for her brilliant beta-reading skills!

As always, I invite anyone to leave criticism, comments, feeback, or suggestions (etc…) for the story if they fancy to.


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